The quiet space between love and hate
by msmerlin13
Summary: He was the exact same man she had met nearly twelve years ago. Which is why it made no sense that it was he who graced her bed nearly every night. It was his touch she craved, and worse, he was who made her heart flutter and her stomach swoop. or the one in which Hermione finds herself inexplicably incapable of keeping Severus Snape out of her knickers.
1. Chapter 1

Warning: Chapter is NSFW

_For Disenchantedglow_

* * *

She doesn't know how it all began, or truthfully why.

One day she was arguing with him over what she was certain was a heavy handed punishment to her god son, and the next she was bent over his desk in the hurried moments between the end of lunch and beginning of afternoon classes.

Rationally, she knew it made no sense. He was still as cynical and harsh as he was during her own school days. If there was an art for insults that stung worse than a slicing hex, Severus Snape was its master. He made no pretense about assaulting her verbally for what he deemed careless mistakes.

His looks hadn't changed since the war's end, so there was no physical explanation to this mind-numbing situation she found herself in. His hair still hung in his face, limp and lifeless. His lips still curled around crooked teeth, and he still donned robes that billowed around his form, concealing his actual physique from the outside world.

He was the exact same man she had met nearly twelve years ago.

Which is why it made no sense that it was he who graced her bed nearly every night. It was his touch she craved, and worse, he was who made her heart flutter and her stomach swoop.

Despite everything, here she was, moving down the same darkened hallways following evening patrol towards his chambers to fall into his bed until the early morning light would drift through the underwater windows and she'd slip back up to her own chambers to dress and begin her day.

In the beginning she reasoned it was pure insanity. That was the _only_ logical explanation for their frantic meet ups.

But then he invited her to his chambers, and she returned the gesture. The irregular meetings became routine and, well, now? Now the reason still eluded her, but the lines between impulse and need blurred into whatever it was they were now.

She wasn't dating Severus Snape. No, absolutely not.

She wasn't dating _anyone_. She didn't want to. Not now, and possibly not ever. The wounds from her divorce, from the wizard who was supposed to be the love of her life and best friend were still too raw to even begin to humour the idea of opening up to someone again. Truthfully, she couldn't even so much as look at a red head without wanting to either cry or use a blasting hex—or both.

Which is probably why this worked.

She didn't discuss anything of substance with Severus when she visited his rooms. He didn't try to pry into her mind when she didn't feel like talking. He didn't demand to know what she'd done with her day or want to make weekend plans. Their relationship, if that was what she was forced to label it, was purely physical and, as far as she was concerned, that was perfectly adequate.

While her attraction to him was undeniably absurd, she still wanted to light his robes on fire every time he so much as opened his mouth when they were around each other outside the solitude of their chambers… or classrooms… or his laboratory.

Her dragon hide booties snapped against the stone tile, the bare walls of the dungeons making it sound more like an echo chamber than the hallway leading toward the Slytherin Head of House. She didn't bother looking over her shoulder to check for prying eyes. Though the late hour didn't guarantee against wandering students, none of them would dare to visit this deep into the underbelly of the Castle. Not with the potential of running into Hogwarts' least favoured professor.

"Lovage Leaves." This month's password was whispered to the suit of armor that guarded the entrance to his chambers, and when the metal suit clanged to life and shuffled from its post, she pushed the heavy door open with no preamble as to her intention.

While she couldn't come up with a reason to explain _why_ she wanted this, she knew precisely _what_ she wanted from this encounter. Him. Naked. Preferably in his bed, but his couch would work if he insisted.

His chambers were as cluttered as always, stacks of books, bits of parchment and potions ingredients littering every single surface area. On her first visit, she was surprised by the amount of disarray in which he kept his personal quarters. His classroom and laboratory had always been so pristinely organised, as though he spent hours on end ensuring everything was just so. But behind closed doors and through the lens of maturity only adulthood provided, the truth was evident.

Severus, while arguable a genius, was also a wreck. He relied on the punishments he doled out to keep his classrooms in order, but couldn't very well demand students pick up his living quarters. Truthfully, it made sense. Clever minds were seldom vacant, and to see that almost frantic energy displayed in his private life was entirely within the realm of possibility.

She'd grown used to the acidic odour his fermenting potions gave off long ago, and hardly batted an eye as she picked up a discarded oxford from the arm of his couch so she could lay her teacher's robes down. Folding the oxford, she set it on his coffee table beside three different cups of unfinished tea and a plate of crumbled biscuits.

He didn't attend this evening's dinner in the Great Hall, and judging by his desk which had a stack of fresh parchment and an opened ink pot, he'd likely gotten lost in writing down his latest creation and skipped the last meal of the day without any notice. Biscuits, and lukewarm tea seemed to be a healthy staple in his diet. l While the mother-hen inside her clucked and puffed its feathers at the thought of him not eating a well-balanced meal, the selfish brat inside that still associated itself with Severus Snape reminded her it wasn't her place.

He wasn't anything beyond a colleague whom she just so happened to be sleeping with, and if he wanted to waste away due to his poor eating habits then so be it. As long as he still shagged her with the same vigour, she didn't mind.

Her fingers moved to the buttons of her blouse, unthreading them with the same sort of casual intimacy as their whole affair as she ventured to the writing desk. He had been on the far side of the castle when she'd seen him last, and would probably be arriving any moment. While she probably shouldn't snoop through his things, the instinct to peek at his jagged script was too much.

Because despite how absolutely insufferable he was, despite how mad he drove her, Severus was brilliant. His theories in potioneering were astounding, and furthermore, the strides he was taking to mix Dark Arts Defenses with Practical Potions were truly groundbreaking. To take a potion as a preventative measure against _Imperio_ was unheard of, but based on his notes, he had successfully brewed a draught that acted as a shield for a six hour period.

These types of potions would have been critical during the war. They would have prevented countless deaths. They would have made it impossible for Voldemort and his henchmen to sneak their way into the Ministry. And here he was, creating them.

Her eyes flicked over the notes, fingers reaching the bottom of her blouse and she shrugged the sheer material from her shoulders, carefully folding it as she reviewed his ingredient list. Knottgrass, Ptolemy, Tormentil, and… Moonseed? The properties of each ingredient didn't seem like they had a common theme, but as she set her discarded shirt on the seat of his wooden rolling chair, her mind wandered to find the connection.

Her fingers moved as if they had a mind of their own, unbuttoning and lowering the zipper to her trousers before she leaned again his desk to unzip and peel off her booties, letting them fall with heavy thumps on the scuffed wooden floor.

Moonseed seemed to be the most logical choice as a binder, the magical properties wouldn't overpower the others, but maybe that was the problem. He needed something that would enhance as opposed to simply contain.

Shimmying out of her trousers, Hermione picked up her clothing from the floor, setting everything in a neat pile on the chair. She was lost in thought, index finger tapping her chin as she reviewed his notes, when the loud scrape of the metal suit of armor could be heard and the soft whoosh of chilly dungeon air entered the fire-warmed quarters as the door slipped open.

Severus strode through as he always did, long legged stride that never changed his rapid pace. His black robes billowed behind him, swirling and snapping to life. Dark eyes found her immediately, as they always seemed to do, and the tight-lipped sneer that seemed ever present while he was on patrol faded into nothing.

Apathy.

Just the way she liked it. This was devoid of any real emotion. Purely primal. Two adults using each other to provide a balm to their desires.

"You finished quickly." His eyes ran down her body. He was likely judging her, as he often did. Her knickers weren't her finest pair; the simple black cotton bikini cut, and her faded gray bra had seen better days. Were he anyone else she might attempt to put a bit more attention into her undergarments.

But this wasn't about that.

She didn't need to seduce him, and he certainly wasn't looking for her to wear lace knickers.

"I finished on the second floor." Her hands moved behind her back, fingers fiddling with the clasp that held her bra secure. "No students to send back to their beds tonight."

He hummed, eyes crawling up her legs, over her middle and pausing on her chest until she slipped her bra free and tossed it onto the chair with her other clothing. "Well, aren't you lucky?" Long fingers flexed at his sides, the only indication that the man was indeed human and not some emotionless robot.

Severus had never previously shown her any outward reaction to her figure. Sure, he actively participated in foreplay—thank gods—but he never groaned, or sighed, or even looked at her longingly. But his fingers. Oh those wicked clever instruments of pleasure. They told her all she needed to know.

In the classroom, they'd drum upon the table when he was agitated. He'd rub his index and middle finger against his thumb when lost in thought. And when he flexed them? Well that meant he was restraining himself. Holding back whatever outward emotion that might threaten to slip past his carefully constructed exterior.

The first time she'd noticed that small detail was their fourth time together. She'd been on her knees in the Astronomy tower, hands gripping his thighs as she took as much of him in her mouth as she could. He didn't grip her hair like Ron used to, nor cup her jaw like Cormac. Instead, his fingers flexed at his sides, as if he were trying to reign in some terrible beast inside him threatening to break free.

The second time was during their first night in his chambers. He'd invited her to join him after patrol, saying his knees could no longer take the abuse from the stone walls of the alcoves or sharp corners of desks in unused classrooms. While the invitation seemed rather forward, she'd found it nice to not have to worry about the chill of the night air against her skin. Well that, and the springs of an actual mattress went a long way in assisting with their goal.

She was on top of him, riding him towards completion and his hands were at her hips, guiding her up and down in a fluid rhythm, but it was that same finger flex, that _I-can't-quiet-hide-what-I'm-feeling_ tell that gave him away seconds before he found his release buried deep inside her.

Since then, she looked for his hands to tell her the truth he wouldn't dare speak.

A small swell of pride filled her chest, and she fought back the smug grin that threatened to split her smile into two. Instead, she dropped her eyes to look at the chipped varnish on her toes, reigning in her ego. "You should try using Unicorn Horn Powder."

"Hrm?"

"In your potion. Moonseed acts as a binder, but it's not enhancing the properties of the other ingredients." He was probably going to tell her off, and remind her that her place in his chambers wasn't to snoop through his belongings. But she figured a nudge in the right direction might not hurt. Even if her theory was wrong, it might spur him onto the proper course.

"Unicorn Horn Powder." The words slipped off his tongue, slow and langrid, like warm honey trailing off a honeycomb. It sent an unexpected shiver down her spine and she looked back up to find him already divested of his oxford and working open his charcoal trousers.

Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, watching the lean muscles of his forearms flex as he removed his trousers and pants in one go. The lithe frame that lay hidden beneath a thick layer of inky black garments still set her libido aflame.

She wasn't attracted to Severus' physical appearance necessarily. Sure, he wasn't unpleasant to look at when he wasn't sneering, but he was hardly worth an owl home about. However, once she caught a glimpse of what lay underneath... Merlin, that was worth putting up with his barbed insults—that and those wicked fingers, of course.

He was lean, not bulky with muscles like a lot of men her age. No, he was more like fine wine. Smooth and aged. His skin bore scars from the war, iridescent shimmers of wounds long since healed. The sparse layer of coarse hair that peppered his milky white chest had hidden grays mixed in, like strands of silver hidden on onyx.

Once upon a time she might have turned up her nose at the wrinkles and signs of aging. But now? Well now she knew better. Much better.

She wouldn't classify Severus as a giving lover, but the man certainly knew his way around the bedroom, and it was so nice to be with someone who held so much confidence in his abilities. At least, inside the bedroom. Outside, he was still a pompous arsehole who didn't know when to shut the bloody hell up.

Which is why she waited, breath ticking in her throat as she watched him rise to his full height, socks, trousers and shorts in a small pile at his bare feet. She could already see the evidence of his desire stirring to life between his muscular thighs, not quite erect, but well on its way.

"Why horn over blood? Wouldn't the coagulation in the blood help facilitate the binding while also having the added bonus of natural enhancement." He was moving across his room towards her, eyes flickering down to her sensible knickers and he cocked a brow, as if to question why they were still firmly in place.

"Oh, right. Sorry." Hooking her thumbs into the sides, she wiggled them over her hips, letting the less than sexy knickers pool around her ankles momentarily as she stepped free from the last layer keeping her hidden from his assessment. "The blood would likely raise the temperature of the potion past the point of viability for the Ptolemy, wouldn't it?. If you use the pestle to crush the horn with the moonseed, the combination should allow for a similar result with little burn out. It's been a number of years since I've practiced any sort of potioneering, so I might be reaching. But I did have a good teacher once upon a time, so I can't imagine being too far off base."

She could have sworn she saw his lips twitch on his approach, and he tipped his head back with a small flourish to push his lank hair from his face. "I'll consider it… among the other alternatives I have listed." That was as close to a thank you as she was ever likely to receive, and while it was far from perfect, or socially acceptable, she took the hidden praise in stride.

His right hand extended, long fingers curling around her wrist and he pulled her close until their bodies were mere centimeters apart. She could feel the warmth of his frame mirror her own... inviting, intoxicating. His scent was one of the first things she'd come to think of when their trysts started. It clung to her clothes, trapped in the weft of her cotton robes, a reminder of what they had been doing.

Cedar, Bergamont, just a hint of Juniper and smoke. Not like a campfire, or woods, but rather that magical heat that penetrated the laboratories when the burners were aflame. Independently these scents did little for her, but combined they made her mouth water, her mind grow fuzzy, and brought a distinct dampness between her thighs.

"Do you wish to discuss my potions all evening, Ms. Granger, or shall we continue?" His fingers trailed down her wrist, ghosting over her pulse point, down the length of her forearm before beginning their climb up her body to trace the cap of her shoulder and play across the scar that his once sister-in-arms gave her nearly two decades prior.

"Nope." Her eyes fluttered shut, each new breath growing more difficult to suck in. "We can… continue."

"Good."

And just like how this all began, he was on her before she could even so much as open her eyes.

His lips were not soft, or plush, but rather firm, determined as they met the soft flesh on her shoulder. his fingers wound into the thick curls on the base of her neck and with a firm tug, she allowed him to pull her head back and expose more of her throat for his continued assault.

Her hands found his chest, fingers splayed wide so she could touch as much of him as possible as she rose up on her toes to wind her arms around his neck, her own fingers slipping through the ends of his hair. Her body molded to his with a familiar ease. This little affair had been going on for eight months, since she'd taken her post at the end of last term. And while yes, it made zero sense, and yes, he still drove her batty, it was these moments where she could feel his cock probe her stomach, his hands caress her skin and his mouth lavish her lips that reminded her why she kept coming back.

Because it was in these moments she could forget.

Forget the pain of a bitter divorce. Forget that she'd lost one of her best friends in the course of a year as a result. Forget that she was rapidly approaching her mid-thirties with nothing to show but a teaching position she _really_ didn't want, and a bitter outlook on life.

The truth was, she wasn't so dissimilar from Severus Snape. While she tended to keep her mood on the happier side of the pendulum, she too felt that same morose outlook on life that he displayed.

Maybe it scared her—to admit her own cynicism, but she wasn't going to fall prey to that demon just yet. She was thirty, had plenty of life ahead of her, and if she wanted to spend an undisclosed amount of time shagging Severus Snape, then so be it. It was only her bad choice to live through. She was no longer obliged to anyone else in life. Not Harry, not her parents, and certainly not Ronald-_fucking_-Weasley.

Severus's hand left her curls, fingers ticking over each vertebrae on their descent down her spine. His name was whispered into the ether, neither a prayer nor a plea, just gentle encouragement that what he was doing was precisely what she needed.

He guided them through the messy room with sure movement, navigating the little maze of stacked books and clutter until she felt his mattress press at the backs of her thighs. His teeth grazed her pulse point, nipping at the sensitive skin before his tongue swept over the raised flesh, causing just the hint of a whimper to slip from the back of her throat.

"How would you—"

"Normal. Missionar—_oh gods_." The question was routine as anything else. How would she liked him to fuck her? Her answer was entirely dependent on their interactions that day. Sometimes she requested he take her from behind, bent over the edge of his bed where his cock would reach depths inside her she hadn't been aware of before. Others, she'd take charge and ride him until she was satisfied, only caring about her own release.

Tonight? Tonight she was feeling particularly sentimental. The one year anniversary of her separation was rapidly approaching and she just wanted to pretend, even if just for a moment, that this mind blowing sex was something _other_ than exactly what it was.

With a firm hand, he guided her to the bed, fingers trailing over her sternum and across her abdomen towards his goal—the sodden patch of cropped curls nestled between her thighs. She spread her legs, opening her body to him with zero hesitation or embarrassment and was rewarded with that tell-tale twitch of his fingers.

He stroked across her slit with two fingers, gently parting her to expose the ripe pink of her pussy and she let out a soft moan when his index finger moved to trail across her clitorial hood, gently stroking the epicentre of her pleasure.

Merlin, Nimue and Circe. Everything this wizard did was exact and precise. He never minced words, nor seemed to second guess himself and his assuredness in the bedroom was no different than any other aspect of his life.

He knelt before her parted thighs, sinking onto the hardness of the floor, using the bed as the pedestal in which he was willing to worship at for the evening. Her hands moved to slip into his greasy locks, holding them from his angular face as he leaned in to swipe his tongue over her exposed pussy in a slow languid motion.

Her knees bent, feet digging into the softness of his mattress and she arched her hips towards his mouth, eyes fluttering beneath closed lids as he set to work on providing her the release she so desperately needed.

Foreplay wasn't something he'd ever skimped on. Even from the very beginning, he always seemed intent on making sure her body was well taken care of before he'd fill her with his cock. At first she thought it was a fluke, but now this level of attention was nearly expected. It wasn't some kind gesture on his part though, no. He wanted to make sure her body was ready and willing to accommodate his size and she was more than willing to allow him to prime her in any way he saw fit.

His hands guided her legs over his shoulders, thighs pressing against his ears and she felt his scalp slip against her blunt nails as he licked, touched, and sucked her closer and closer towards what she was hoping would be the first of multiple orgasms.

That tension built, pulling taut like a harpist's string, beginning at just below her navel and ending at her cunt, each brush of his tongue across her clit left her reeling and breathless and just when she wasn't sure she would be able to take even a second more, she met her crescendo.

The world seemed to break apart, shattering into a million tiny pieces and it all centered around the pulsating warmth of his mouth between her thighs. His name slipped off her tongue once, twice, three times, an incoherent babble of praise and thanks for the attention he lavished on her naked form and just as she began to regain her breath and the tingle of bliss left her limbs, she felt her body be tugged across the mattress until her head hit the softness of his pillows.

He was between her thigh once more, sharp hipbones digging into the softness of her inner thighs, and she felt the probe of his manhood at her core, coating his length in the essence that spread across her sex and dripped over her skin.

Her eyes cracked open, and she tipped her chin down, watching greedily as he notched at her entrance, thick cock poised and ready, and her breath caught in her throat, anticipation and expectation alike stealing her ability to breathe—to function.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he pushed inside her. Filling and stretching her until there felt like there was simply no more of him she could take, but still he continued until she felt the pressure of his manhood nudge against places inside her she was certain no man had ventured before him.

His breath was laboured, hitching with each exhale, and his fingers twitched beside her head on the mattress as he began a slow and a steady rhythm. Each pull an exquisite release, her body empty, desperate for more, and each push a reminder of how full and alive he made her feel.

Her hands slid across the planes of his chest, coarse hair sliding between her spread fingers, and she sighed each time his hips met hers, the gentle grind bringing small aftershocks of intense pleasure to life, reminders from her first orgasm.

Curling over his shoulders, her nails dragged gently across his back, eliciting a small hiss of painful pleasure and when she leaned up to slot her lips against his, she could have sworn she felt his entire body tremble. "Hard… faster."

It was a command, not a request, and clearly one Severus was only so glad to relent to. His left hand moved to curl under her knee, guiding her leg up and around his middle, anchoring them together as he picked up the rhythm until each snap of his hips was met with a gasp. The lewd sound of their coupling filled the room, and soon the distinct slap of skin against skin seemed to mask even her most breathy moans.

He was a man driven by desire, his goal evident. Severus seemed to pay no heed to the layer of sweat that coated his skin, nor the way each inhale left him gasping for breath. No, he seemed driven by a primal instinct to make sure she found her end a second time.

Her tongue slipped between his lips, brushing against his in what she was certain was crossing some invisible line they'd set. In all of their previous encounters she could only count a small handful of times his lips had found hers. It wasn't spoken, but the act itself felt too intimate for what they were too—too real. Kissing was for lovers, and while yes, that was _clearly_ what they were, there was still a level of detachment they both seemed to rely on. Instead of pulling back to break the kiss early, Severus leaned in. He didn't seem to mind her need for affection tonight. No, if anything, he gave her more than she thought physically possible.

This time, there was no build up. No anticipation of the drudging waves of bliss that pulled her under. One minute, she was gasping into his parted lips, and the next her spine arched off the mattress, head tipped back as she cried out his name, body clinging to his as she quivered.

Her world was aflame. As if everything had been black and gray and now suddenly it was in technicolour. The dark room shined, if at all possible, with a renewed brilliance. She could feel his thrusts go erratic, and shallow, his fingertips pressing bruises into the soft skin of her thighs. His teeth sunk into the cap of her shoulder, not breaking the skin, but certainly not leaving her unharmed as he followed her into oblivion.

His cock swelled and pulsed inside her, spilling his seed deep within her body. His lips detached from the skin on her shoulder, but he waited until his cock began to deflate before rolling onto the mattress beside her.

She felt boneless, as if he'd hit her with an _Ossio Dispersimus. _She should grab her wand and clean up. Or at the very least grab some discarded clothing from his floor so she didn't make a mess of his bedding, but she couldn't find an ounce of will inside her to encourage her to move.

Instead she lay on the bed, legs still parted, her chest heaving and eyes closed. She let her heart rate slow naturally, allowing it to take its time to find the normal rhythm before she dared to crack open her eyes.

Severus, for all his age and glory, appeared to have recovered much faster than she. He was still very much naked, taking no shame in his appearance, but now propped up against his ironwood headboard. Perched on his nose sat a pair of brushed metal readers, and opened over his flat stomach, a thick tome.

Rolling onto her side, Hermione narrowed her vision on the elegant script to determine the title, and when that didn't work because his fingers hid half of the words, she reached out to bat his hand aside. _Mummy's Revenge: Dark Arts of Ancient Egypt and How Muggles Almost Killed Us All._

"That's a good one. I finished it last month." She pushed herself up, slowly claiming the space beside him as she often did following their little trysts. Reaching for the sheets, she tugged them up and over her waist until the black cotton came to rest on her middle.

"Hrm… I find it rather lacking in substance, but to each their own." He flipped the page, only casting the quickest of glances over to her before his eyes found the tight script on the text once more. Saying not a single word, nor lifting his eyes from his book, Severus reached out to his nightstand and plucked a thin periwinkle book from its surface and laid it in her lap.

_Russian Ruins and The Fairy Tale Connection._

A black ribbon marked her place halfway through the text, and she cracked open the spine and carefully removed her it on her thigh before settling back against the pillows. While shagging Severus was clearly the reason she returned to his chambers time and time again, it was this after that made it worth the confusion.

There was no cuddling. No pretense of feelings nor caring.

They'd simply collect themselves and read in blissful silence beside one another until sleep made their eyelids too heavy. It wasn't romantic, nor charming, but it was precisely what Hermione longed for. Quiet companionship. How she'd managed to find even a hint of that with Severus was beyond her, but she certainly wasn't going to scoff at the idea. Especially not when his collection held many texts she hadn't seen anywhere else.

Propping the book against her slightly bent knee, Hermione let her arm fall to the bed between them, mind so full of the translations of the ancient Russian ruins that she hardly noticed when his hand found the mattress directly beside hers. And she certainly didn't pay attention when his fingers, long and lean, flexed against the bedding every time they accidentally touched.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Once upon a time I told my dear friend, disenchantedglow, I would never write her another Severus x Hermione fic.

I lied.

I make no apologies for lying. I also cannot explain why I felt the need to write this, but here you go.

beta: disechantedglow  
alpha: lumoslyra

until next time. xx


	2. Chapter 2

Warning: This Chapter is NSFW

* * *

She wasn't certain she'd ever tire of the feeling of him between her thighs. And she didn't know what about that statement frightened her more; the fact that the truth wasn't as alarming as it should have been, or the fact that she had never felt that way about her ex-husband over the course of their nine year marriage.

"_Severus_." His name crested off her tongue, mingling with quiet sighs of pleasure that filled her airy quarters, the gentle noises of pleasure reaching the exposed beams that bisected the ceiling. The soft predawn rays had already begun to illuminate her chamber and the wide windows painted pictures of the purple sky that bloomed to life beyond the glass.

He always woke before her when he stayed the night in her room, typically slipping out before she could so much as blink the sleep from her eyes, but today was different.

Today he stayed.

Today his hands roved over her body, long wicked fingers dipping over her curves on their mission to part her legs. She could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady against her back as he molded himself around her and slowly lifted her leg over his hip. Before she could even fight through the twilight haze that fogged her mind, he was inside her, filling her, completing parts of her that she was unaware had missing pieces.

He took his time, the rhythm slow, like stone masons laying a foundation. Brick by brick, he brought forth a new wave of bliss. Slow, sleepy morning sex. It had never occured between them before, something she never thought entirely possible, but now that he'd given her just a taste of this delirium inducing nirvana, she wasn't certain she could ever give this up.

No, if it were up to her, they'd do this every morning after a late-night visit.

Hermione's arm lifted from the thick mass of comforter that was now bunched beside her, and she curled it around his neck, fingers sliding through his sleep mussed locks, nails scraping lightly as she directed his wandering lips across the sensitive skin on her shoulder until his lips met that small patch of skin that made her toes curl.

"T-There."

His teeth and tongue lavished attention on the spot, nibbling, licking, nipping at the junction between her shoulder and neck until she could feel the skin bruise and swell under his lips, marking her as his. She'd bore evidence of their encounters before: halfmoon indents across her hips from his nails, love bites dotted on the swells of her breasts, and bruises over her arse from the snap of his hips. But this would be the first time the marks would venture above the collar and for some inexplicable reason, the idea sent a thrill down her spine.

This wasn't supposed to cause her stomach to swoop. His touch wasn't supposed to elicit such a confusing myriad of emotions, but as he drove into her with that languid pace he'd fallen into this morning, her heart couldn't help but sing.

His fingers moved up her inner thigh from where he'd held her knee, tickling the soft skin on its journey to where their bodies joined. She practically keened when she felt two fingers slide through her labia, coating the pads of his fingers in her essence before he found her clit.

His tempo didn't change, no, but as his fingers began to press against the bud, swirling and flicking across the most sensitive part of her body, he ground into her with each thrust of his hips.

Hermione's soft whimpers and moans transformed into breathy pleas. The tension he built within her was exquisite, unlike anything she'd ever felt before. She could feel it consume her, starting at the very tips of her toes and ending at the bottom of each curl, she felt the pressure build and build and _build_. He controlled her body like he was its conductor, fingers flexing against her cunt as her mind fell into a space where only his name could be gasped into the bedding.

She felt it first in the very centre of her stomach, that decadent snap that sent shockwaves down every limb until she was nothing but a quivering mess beneath his fingers. Her world faded behind tightly shut eyes and her fingers curled, scrabbling to hold on as the drudging wave of her orgasm consumed her. Despite the raw cries that ripped from her throat, he didn't stop.

Severus redoubled his efforts as if the sound and feeling of her completion were fuel for his own desire. With his arm curling around her middle, he rolled onto his back, guiding her body to lay atop his and he parted her thighs until her legs hung on either side of his own.

She felt lewd, stretched to open on top of him, but the thought was simply a passing blip through the frenzy of pleasure that penetrated every fibre of her being.

Over and over, he drove himself deeply within her, his soft grunts and growls tickling the damp hair beside her ear as his hands curled around her thighs, holding her steady. Each time he pressed inside her and his cock slammed against her womb, her breath fled her lungs, each one of his labored breaths caressing her skin like silk. Her world felt upside down.

Her hands rose, arms bent at the elbow as she curled her fingers into the pillow beside his head, the primal noises he'd ripped from her body reaching new levels as she felt a fast rising need to find her end a second time.

She _couldn't_.

She wasn't sure if her body would be willing to meet something so divine in such quick succession.

But despite her self doubt, it was evident that Severus knew her body better than she did, because just as she thought she'd wrangled her runaway libido, she was falling once more. No screams nor cries accompanied this climax. No primal noises filled the vaulted ceiling of her quarters.

She could only gasp, mouth parted in silent prayer as she rode the wave of bliss for a second time.

Beneath her Severus's thrusts grew erratic, changing from the steady pace she could have set her watch to into a frenzy of motion, and soon she felt his cock swell and twitch with his own climax. Thick ropes of come filled her, spilling out of her body, trickling across his pelvis as he snarled her name—her given name—into the void.

She _should_ have found it odd.

She should have found it _alarming_.

But the sound of her name, her _given_ name in that sultry deep baritone did something peculiar to her. Her stomach swooped, her heart fluttered, and more-over, her mind began to think of the possibilities that maybe he wasn't so bad.

Despite his quick temper and near constant foul moods. Despite the fact he drove her absolutely mad, there were hints of something beyond annoyance that he stirred within her.

He discussed Magic theory as others might Quidditch, with conviction and passion so deeply ingrained into the fibre of who he was. While he might roll his eyes and huff when she disrupted his reading or revising to ask him a question, he never turned her away. He didn't shun her for her curiosity.

These feelings, no matter how perplexing, were ones she could never birth.

There was no way they could ever come to light.

It wasn't the age difference, though nineteen years _was_ a bit much. It was rather that they were two distinctly different people. Hermione was light, seeing the best in people, finding hope in even the worst of times, and Severus the dark, focusing on all the wrong in any situation and always assuming the worst.

No, they could simply never work.

Ever.

His hands were gentle as he rolled her onto the mattress, his softening cock slipping from her body and smearing a trail of their combined essence across her thighs. He pulled the thin sheet that had tangled around their feet over their bodies, draping it over her middle before he settled back into the warm space on what had become _his_ side of the bed over the past eight months.

He didn't utter a word, nor provide an explanation for this early morning romp. Though, to be fair, she didn't ask either.

Instead, Hermione curled her arms under the pillow, nuzzling into the downy cotton, and she allowed the sleepy, post-orgasmic bliss to help her drift off. By the time his hand found her back, long lean fingers painting her skin with invisible ancient runes, she'd long lost herself to slumber.

* * *

Early December passed much quicker than she'd anticipated and worse, she had barely finished her lessons on defensive spells for jinxes when she'd caught the plague that seemed to be going around the school faster than most rumours.

She wasn't one to miss work. She'd prided herself on never using a single sick day while at the Ministry, but it seemed the ailments her students passed around were simply too much for her thirty year old body to bear.

Thus, she had to take the Thursday and now, the Friday before the winter holidays off.

Minerva graciously covered her lessons, saying she missed being in front of a classroom and didn't mind a small break in her Headmistress duties.

With her lesson plans in safe hands, Hermione had spent the last two days burrowed into the safety of her thick down comforter, nursing what was turning out to be the worst case of Doxy Cold she'd ever contracted.

Her nose felt like a tap she was unable to turn off, her joints ached, and the castle's drafty chill she could normally keep at bay with a cozy fire seemed to rip through her clothing despite the thick layers.

With no end in sight, she'd come to terms with the fact that she was going to spend the holidays alone, likely holed up in her room with a steaming cuppa and some cold leftovers from the kitchens.

That was, until, a knock at her door pulled her up from the cold fog she'd drifted into on her couch while staring at the bright flames in her fireplace.

Untangling her limbs from the plush throw, she moved towards her door with a profound confusion. It was nearly dinner time, which meant classes were long over. She wasn't a head of house, so there should be no students needing her assistance. And surely Minerva would have left her report on her desk as opposed to hand walking it down to her.

Her fingertips pressed over the lock, and she scratched out a soft "_Alohamora."_ Her wandless magic slid the lock free and she pulled open the door to reveal the one person she was absolutely not expecting.

Severus Snape stood at her doorway, as he had countless times before, black hair framing his angular features, dark eyes providing no hint as to his purpose. Her brow furrowed, hand curling around the side of the door as she pulled it wider. "Uh… Hello."

"Good evening." His chin dipped every so slightly, and she could feel his eyes roam down her body in silent assessment. She wore a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms that were adorned with ginger cats in Santa hats—a whimsical gift from Ginny and Harry last year—a long sleeved thermal that had seen much better days, and mismatched knit socks rolled thickly around her ankles. She was a wreck of sorts, she was well aware of that, but she was sick! Surely his stern judgement could take a break on days like today.

"I'm sick." Her arms curled around her middle, fingers tugging on the creeping hemline of her top and she forced a weak smile on her lips. "Sorry, now probably isn't the time for… for a visit."

_A visit._

Yes, that's the proper term for what they did, right? Surely making love was out of the realm of possibility, and shagging felt so bloody juvenile. No, visiting was right.

"I am well aware of the state of your health, Ms Granger." Severus strode into her quarters without invitation, paying no heed to the momentary panic that flashed in her eyes at his sudden intrusion. It wasn't until she'd shut her door and turned to face him that she'd noticed a small black tote clutched in his hand. "Students were all too happy to complain about the Headmistress' presence in your classroom for the past two days. Even if I wanted to pretend to be blissfully unaware, the rather boisterous complaints would have not allowed me to feign ignorance."

He moved around her couch and sent the medium sized bag down with a grace that seemed so much a part of who he was. Severus Snape never did anything without conviction. Each step he took and every flick of his wrist was purposefully artful—deliberate.

"Uh… I'm sorry?"

He waved off her apology with a quick roll of his hand, not even bothering to lift his eyes from his current task of unloading the tote at her approach. "Uncouth adolescent minds are hardly your fault. Though, if I am not mistaken, you were once a member of their hearty ranks not too long ago." His arm disappeared into the bag up to his elbow, and with that same exact precision that he did everything else with, he withdrew a plastic container of what appeared to be… soup.

Hermione's feet stilled and her mind blanked as she watched him set it down on her coffee table before laying a cloth napkin and metal spoon beside it. Her lips parted, unspoken words poised on the tip of her tongue ready to hurl across the room. What on earth was he doing?

In all these months teaching beside one another she had never witnessed Severus Snape do something so… so… _nice_. He yelled at first years for dawdling in the halls for Merlin's sake, and now here he was bringing her soup because she was sick?

She debated pinching herself to make sure this wasn't a dream, because there was no way _this _was actually happening. Unless…

"Severus?"

He glanced over his shoulder, arching a brow. "Yes?"

Her socked feet slid across the floor, hands twisting the hem of her shirt, rolling it between her index finger and thumb as she made her slow approach. "I don't mean to sound unkind… but what the bloody hell are you doing?"

Severus brow twitched, tension tugging the muscles of his face and she could see his jaw work. "I know you're feeling ill, but surely your sight didn't disappear with your fever, did it?" Turning his palm towards the ceiling, he gave a slow sweep towards the container of soup he'd set out. "This is very clearly soup."

"Yes. I can see that, I was simply inquiring as to _why_ you've brought me soup."

"Because you're ill." He spoke the three words as if it were the most obvious thing in the world as opposed to being entirely out of character. He shook his ebony locks back with a quick shake of his head, dark eyes rolling towards the ceiling. "I'd have assumed you astute enough to decipher even the most obvious social norms, but clearly we must work on your observation skills."

"Wh—Merlin you're_ such _a cock sometimes." The insult slipped passed her internal filter as she pinched the bridge of her nose, sucking in a deep breath to calm the rising wave of indignation that was threatening to swallow her whole. "I meant why, Severus. As in_ why _did you bring me soup, and if you tell me because I'm ill again I will ask you to leave my rooms before you can so much as finish that damn sentence."

"While my etiquette in this realm is a bit lacking, I was under the impression that caring for one's partner is what people do in relationships."

Partner?

Relationships?

Her entire body froze, fingers still pinching her nose as his words reverberated in her mind, as if he'd shouted them into a cavern as opposed to snapping them at her across her tiny living space. Partner? _Relationship_?! What on earth was he talking about? They were just—how could he assume that—but this… this made no sense! They'd never so much as discussed their day, let alone did… date things.

No, they'd patrol the castle together, reprimand children, and then shag like rabbits once the students had all been tucked safely away in bed. Sure, they read books beside one another, and sometimes shared a pot of tea, but that wasn't a relationship, was it?

No, no, there was no bloody way.

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that?" Dropping her hand, she blinked up at him, a bubble of laughter churning in the pit of her stomach, threatening to break free, because there was no bloody way he'd assumed they were actually… dating. Was there?

"Look, this whole game is getting rather tiresome, so this is the last time I will repeat myself. You have fallen ill. I have brought you soup from the kitchens to help your ailment. I've also brought biscuits, and a blend of herbal tea that I take when I fall ill. I did this because I was under the impression this is what witches want from their partners, but if you'd much prefer to convalesce on your own, I can excuse myself from your chambers and return to my own to spend a quiet evening by myself. Though, if I can speak plainly, I would much prefer your company as long as you refrain from asking such daft questions."

"You keep using that word—_partner_ and I'm not understanding its definition." Her brow furrowed, lips tugging downward. "Severus, we're—we're not dating."

He looked taken aback for half a second, real emotion flashing across his face before disappearing just as quickly as it arrived. Had she blinked, she might have missed it. "Don't be stupid, of course we are."

"What are you talking about? How on earth could you classify what we've been doing as dating?" Her soup was likely going to cool, and after noshing on nothing but stale scones and warm tea all day, the idea of something of substance in her stomach sounded heavenly, but she couldn't so much as think about sitting and enjoying it—not when it was so clear they _needed_ to discuss the complexity that appeared to be their differing opinions on what had unfolded over the past eight months. "You've literally never taken me anywhere, _all_ we do is shag."

"Incorrect, but given your state I'll allow the error." His fingers began to work open the buttons on his frock, pushing the tiny black disks free in quick succession before he shrugged from the overcoat. "We read together. We have revised on occasion. And I do believe we went to Hogsmeade together last month."

"We were chaperones! I would hardly call drinking Butterbeer while making sure students kept their clothing on a date, Severus."

He settled on her couch, tucking himself against the end so he could drape his body against the arm of the couch. With his elbow planted, his thumb curled under his chin, long fingers nearly reaching his temple as he looked at her as if this conversation were not only rather boring, but a complete waste of his time. It was an expression she'd seen numerous times over, but rather than shrug off his annoyance as she might have previously, she wanted to reach across the room and strangle him.

"Why does your generation feel the need to showcase their relationships in front of everyone?" His lips twitched, threatening to curl into that familiar sneer. "I assumed you outgrew those frivolous wants, but evidently I misread your maturity. I will make note you require a public courting. Though do not expect roses, or fancy dinners. I find most restaurants inadequate and rather hate large crowds."

Was he serious?

Did he really assume them to be dating?

How could he come to that conclusion? Why her? Moreover, why did the idea of them _being together_ not sound so bloody terrible.

Instead of dread or fear that should have snapped through her body like a live wire at the mere thought, she felt… oddly at ease with the prospect. Disbelief still muddled her consciousness, a very present confusion about how this all came to be never far from the forefront of her mind. Severus was almost twenty years her senior, and while by wizarding standards it would hardly cause a stir, the age difference made him only ten years shy of her parents. While they were understanding and trusted her, she knew this pill would be hard one for them to swallow.

Especially since they were still quite friendly with her ex, which was a rather large thorn in her side.

"I'm not looking to be _courted_, but—" Gods, this felt foolish, but she had to say something, right? To try and find some clarity to this grave miscommunication between them. Moving from the spot her feet had settled in, she claimed the middle spot on her couch, angling her body to her knees nearly touched his, hands folded between her thighs. "I am not—I don't understand when this… became more for you."

"June 8th."

"What?"

"June 8th." He repeated the date as if everything would suddenly click, but nothing stood out. It was around the end of term, she was likely still going over lesson plans, and assisting Minerva with OWLs. Sensing her disconnect, he let loose a perturbed sigh, and shifted back on her couch so he could cross his legs. "That was when I invited you to my chambers."

"Oh…"

"July 13th you accepted my offer of leaving a toothbrush in my washroom."

"Yes but there is hardly anything finite about that. Oral hygiene is important."

"August 2nd we revised together in your rooms prior to my staying the night."

"Severus, surely—"

"September 19th I asked for your assistance in reviewing my work." He pressed his fingers to his temples, eyelids fluttering closed as another long drawn out breath was taken. "For someone who bears the moniker of the Brightest Witch, I would have assumed you understood those _meaningless_ things were far from that for me." His eyes opened, hand sliding from the side his face and he curled his fingers around the arm of her couch. "I am not a pleasant man, Hermione. I will never claim to be such, and I'd assumed that by accepting those olive branches, you understood my intention. Am I to understand you don't feel the same?"

"No!" The answer slipped from her mouth before she could even comprehend its meaning, and she blinked in surprise by the urgency that penetrated her tone. "No…? I mean… I guess I hadn't given it much thought."

"Obviously." Once upon a time that word spoken in the same tone would have left her near tears, but now it only sent a shiver down her spine, prickling the most hidden parts of her desire despite her sickly state. "we can discuss the dynamics of our relationship after you've eaten a proper meal. I hardly think this topic is worth the amount of attention until you're feeling well."

She nodded thickly, head turning to look at the container of steaming soup that he'd brought. It seemed so clear now in hindsight. Those little tokens of intimacy he'd offered her was not him being nice. They were him letting down his guard, allowing her in.

A toothbrush beside his wasn't inconsequential.

Allowing her access to his private library was as personal as allowing someone into his heart.

And as she scooted to the edge of the couch, knees knocking against her coffee table as she removed the plastic lid from the soup, she couldn't stop a riot of butterflies that rose from the cocoons within her stomach.

She couldn't remember the last time she felt the giddy tickle of new romance. Certainly long before her marriage.

Dipping her spoon in the broth, she lifted it to her lips, blowing gently on the curl of steam before taking a drink. "This is really good." Wasting no time, she took another spoonful, letting the burst of chicken, dill, and lemon dance across her tongue. "Is it a special request? I don't think I've ever had this version of the kitchen's chicken noodle before."

"That's because it didn't come from the kitchens." He leaned forward and slipped his hand into the black tote and withdrew two books–the very same two books that had sat on his nightstand four days prior when she'd stayed in his quarters. "I made it myself."

Her spoon hovered in the air, droplets of the divine broth splashing across her pajama covered knees as she craned her neck to look at him, watching as he settled back onto the couch, opening his book as if he had not just told her something so utterly astounding.

He made her soup.

_He_ made _her_ soup.

She didn't know what to say. How could she? She'd only just found out that they were evidently dating, and that the idea didn't utterly repulse her. He laid his book in his lap, long lean fingers holding the page open, and she couldn't deny it almost looked as if he belonged there, surrounded by her things. His dark presence didn't feel out of place, but rather was an almost comforting figure amongst her most treasured objects.

Setting the spoon down in her bowl, she brushed her fingers against the napkin to pull any residual moisture away before she scooted across the couch, crawling up onto the seat as she drew near him and her hands found his shoulders.

"What are you doing?" He jumped beneath her, not expecting her sudden presence. She felt the press of his hand at her side, long fingers curling around her waist as she leaned in to press a chaste kiss at his cheek, ignoring the bewildered look that darkened his eyes.

"Thank you." Her hand replaced her lips on his cheek, her thumb sliding across the sharp definition of his jaw, eyes holding his as her lips curled in the smallest hint of a smile.

Maybe dating Severus Snape wouldn't be so bad.

Maybe this was actually going to amount to something beyond mind blowing sex.

And when she felt his fingers flex at her side, she didn't have to wonder if he felt the same.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

That's all she wrote, folks. I hope you enjoyed my little dip into the Sevmione waters, and I do pray that I did our favorite potion's professor justice. 3

Thanks to Disenchantedglow & LumosLyra for being the crack whip team to get this out to you all as quickly as they did. I would be nothing without their support.

As always, you can find me on tumblr msmerlin-black, or on facebook msmerlin eff. Find me. Friend me. Follow me.

Until next time. xx


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